Seagull man

A photo treatie

This newsletter has, in recent times, been a very special treatie indeed.

In fact, I haven’t sent one since September 2021, when I wrote about trying to quit nicotine. That’s still a work in progress, which is more than I’ve been able to say about this newsletter.

I’ll spare you the excuses, since I doubt any of you have been hanging out to receive my brain farts. But at least part of the reason I haven’t been writing is that I’ve got right into street photography, which means I’ve spent more time pounding the pavement than the keyboard.

Now I’m going to try to do both, and send a short email each week with a bit of writing about a favourite photo I’ve taken. The idea is to keep my eye in when it comes to forming coherent sentences, talk about the weird hobby that is going for walks to take photos of strangers, and (of course, because this is the internet) promote myself. If you’re really into them, all the photos I feature will be available as limited edition prints. Just reply to this email or hit the link at the bottom.

That’s enough intro, I think. I’m going to talk about a favourite snap.

I saw this guy in front of Wharf 5 at Circular Quay, walking in the direction of the Opera House. The winter sun was setting, but it certainly wasn’t a civilised time for dinner. Maybe that’s why he only got a cheeseburger. No judgement, brother.

I immediately had a sense that something was about to happen. Call it a gut feeling. Call it instinct. Call it seeing a giant flock of seagulls circling around his head.

I didn’t have time to change any settings on the camera, but I did step forward so I could frame him against the wall. From there, I just mashed the shutter button and hoped for the best.

I actually ended up with three good shots - one with the bird behind the man, one with the bird about to bite and one with the man’s shocked expression. But I like this one the best - it’s a real moment.

The seagull is diving so dramatically and the guy is blisfully unaware. His eyes are closed in a quiet moment of appreciation, while the red-legged bird is stretched out in naked desire. It’s up to the viewer to guess what happens next.

I’ll let you in on the secret, though. He dropped it. So did the bird. It flew away empty-beaked, but its colleagues fell on the fallen cheeseburger like a mob of, well, hungry seagulls.

The guy saw me, camera in hand, and asked, “Did you get it?”

“I got it,” I said. “Do you want me to send it to you?”

“No,” he replied. “I want to forget this ever happened.”

Buy the print for $40.